Page 56 of Underground Prince

Verily wished she’d kept me out of it.

Too late, I mouthed, but not so clearly that she could read what I was saying.

The car pulled away from the curb, and I left her behind.

* * *

“So.” I folded my hands on my lap. Theo said nothing. Headlights in front of us bathed him in a muted red glow.

After five more seconds and three echoing honks from the cars surrounding us, I ventured to ask, “Do you usually pick up women on street corners?”

He made a noise halfway between a scoff and gruff amusement. “Only the colorful ones.”

I pursed my lips.

“Or the ones who look like they need saving,” he added.

I was ready to get sassy, but our eyes pinged as we met, that tangible force stuttering any words that wanted to come out of my mouth.

“W-who says I need a White Knight?” I said, pretending I caught a chill by rubbing my arms. Melty, girly lameass.

“Who said anything about being swept off your feet by a hero?” he countered.

He was right. Theo was careful, suave, a river current of mystery within a body that told a story of will—the small scar at the corner of his lip, the flint in eyes that were the color of rich, caramelized sugar, yet held the cracks of too many fingers, too much pressure against such a warm, sweet base.

“Where are we going?” I asked, glancing out the window. I’d been studying him, and I was unsure who it made more wary.

“Last night, you told me you weren’t afraid.” Theo spoke without including me, choosing to talk to the outside.

“Yes,” I answered, though there was no need.

“Tonight, I want to show you more.” He signaled at the driver to pull over. We coasted to a stop and I ducked down in order to look up, hoping the tall buildings around me would give some idea as to what Theo was planning.

“And what are we doing here, in front of a bunch of deserted apartments?”

“Collecting.”

I raised my brows. “The scalps of your enemies?”

Theo made a sound. An irked one.

“Hey, you can’t blame me with all the doom and gloom on your face that I thought we’d be doing something spooky,” I said.

“This isn’t child’s play. It’s serious, and if you’re unable to maintain a straight face for more than the time it takes for sound to reach your vocal cords—”

“Fine.” I sat straighter. “I’ll be good.”

“I’ll be here.” He signaled to the driver again. “Brodie will accompany you.”

Brodie, Theo’s driver who could also substitute as bouncer, bodyguard and general wooden barrel of a man. His shoulder breadth was wider than the seat he drove in. His neck was thicker than my thigh.

“Where?” I asked as Brodie stepped out of the car.

“Here.”

Theo held out a manila envelope, the color of a bruised orange in the shadows and suspiciously thick. I took it, the paper crackling under the pressure of my fingers. “What’s this?”

“Payment.”

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